


we know the game and we're gonna play it

by thelittlebirdthattoldyou



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bets & Wagers, Crack Treated Seriously, Established Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Established Relationship, Fluff, Getting Together, Humor, Long-Suffering Iwaizumi Hajime, M/M, PDA, seijoh shenanigans, the matsuhana meme team get together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:02:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24460246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelittlebirdthattoldyou/pseuds/thelittlebirdthattoldyou
Summary: Hanamaki cut in, “If we win, you have to promise to lighten up on the loving around us.”“No more footsie under the table at team dinners,” Matsukawa said.“No more weirdly sexual trash talk when you play on different sides.” Watari said.“No more grabbing Iwaizumi-senpai’s ass ‘for good luck’ before practice games.” That was Kunimi, who shrugged placidly when everyone turned to stare at him.“No more making out shirtless in supply closets,” Yahaba finished.Hanamaki makes a bet, Mastukawa waits for him to get the hint, Oikawa's clinginess is surpassed only by his competitiveness, and Iwaizumi just wants to get through the next day so he can kiss his boyfriend again.
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 41
Kudos: 782





	we know the game and we're gonna play it

**Author's Note:**

> set after karasuno wins the spring high but before they go to nationals.
> 
> i know the seijoh third years aren't all in the same class in canon, but just let me have this.

“Look at them,” Hanamaki said.

“Disgusting,” Matsukawa agreed.

“Intolerable.”

“Shameless.”

They were watching Oikawa make a spectacle of himself on the other side of the gym. While the other players were busy putting away volleyballs and taking down nets, preparing to leave practice for the day, he had somehow convinced his tired vice captain to give him a piggyback ride. His long limbs were wrapped around Iwaizumi, and he dipped his head to whisper into the ace’s ear every time the latter bent down to pick up a ball. Based on the flush creeping over Iwaizumi’s otherwise impassive expression, it wasn’t anything appropriate for a team of high school boys to hear.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi had pulled their heads out of their asses and confessed to each other a week ago, and ever since, the team was subjected to graphic and, frankly, nauseating PDA. Holding hands constantly, sitting on each others’ laps in the changing room, and even, on one memorable occasion, full-blown making out in the supply closet that could have escalated to more if Yahaba hadn’t caught them in the nick of time. It was, of course, no surprise coming from their physically affectionate captain, but everyone on the team had been blindsided when Iwaizumi put up with it. And, even worse, when he returned the favor. Kindaichi blushed and stammered out apologies whenever he saw them, and even Kyoutani looked perturbed at the sight of his respected senpai carrying on in such a manner.

Which brought them to their current predicament. Hanamaki had taken it upon himself to save the team’s innocence from their debauched ways. “We’ve got to do something about them,” he said.

“Agreed.” They exchanged solemn looks. “Intervention time?”

Hanamaki nodded, pleased that they were on the same page. “Intervention time.”

Matsukawa saluted, pivoted, and walked off, presumably to round up the other regulars. Hanamaki watched him go and then headed to the changing room to wait. Sure enough, the first and second years followed one by one. Matsukawa was the last to enter, and he locked the door behind him. Oikawa and Iwaizumi both had keys, of course, but it would provide them with an advance warning if either was about to walk in.

Hanamaki’s gaze swept over the underclassmen gathered in a loose circle around him. Kyoutani glowered back, Kindaichi fidgeted, and Kunimi looked about as unimpressed as usual. Yahaba wore the pained grimace of a battle-hardened soldier, the five stages of grief playing out over his face in quick succession as he experienced war flashbacks, and Watari just seemed amused.

Matsukawa gestured at him, and Hanamaki cleared his throat. “Friends, teammates, countrymen. We are gathered here today for one reason, and one reason only - Iwaoi must be stopped.”

“Iwaoi?” Yahaba asked, looking like he already regretted the question.

“Iwaizumi and Oikawa’s couple name,” Matsukawa clarified, and there were several _oh_ ’s of understanding all around.

“I’m sure I don’t need to tell you this,” Hanamaki said, “but their lovey-dovey coupley-ness has reached disgusting heights.”

“It’s distracting the team,” Matsukawa added. “And it’s gross. And it’s reminding us how depressingly single we are.”

“Our poor kouhai don’t need to see them sucking face all the time. Right, Kindaichi, Kunimi?”

“Um, y - yes, senpai!” Kindaichi said.

“Can I leave?” Kunimi said at the same time.

Watari coughed to catch their attention. “Not that I’m against asking them to tone it down,” he said, lips twitching, “but maybe we could stand to wait. I mean, it’s been a week. Surely the honeymoon phase is almost up.”

Hanamaki _tsk_ ed in disapproval. “Young grasshopper,” he said with a sigh, “if only we were all as innocent and carefree as you.”

“They were pining after each other for years before they got together,” Matsukawa said. “ _Years._ That kind of sexual tension doesn’t get resolved in a week.”

“Or a month,” Hanamaki added.

“Or a year.”

“Or -”

“We get it,” Kyoutani growled. He was frowning, which wasn’t new, but there was a hint of solidarity in his eyes. He wanted this over with as much as the rest of them. “Just tell us what you’re planning.”

Hanamaki and Matsukawa made eye contact for one, two, three seconds. Hanamaki found himself smirking, and Matsukawa responded with a lazy smile that made his insides a little fluttery. Then they nodded.

“We’re so glad you asked.”

* * *

When the objects of their ire entered the room at last, Oikawa was still on Iwaizumi’s back. He gave his team a cheery wave and gracefully landed on his feet when Iwaizumi dropped him. “Good work out there, everyone,” he cheered, oblivious to the painful assassination plots brewing in each of their heads. “Remember, we have a practice match with Karasuno tomorrow, so you’ll be released early from class. I’m counting on all of you!”

“Oikawa-senpai. Iwaizumi-senpai.” Yahaba stepped forward. They’d chosen him to confront the third years first because, as a model underclassman and the future captain, he was the least likely to be dismissed outright. “We have some concerns.”

“Oh?” Oikawa asked. Iwaizumi grunted, and Hanamaki watched in dismay as one of his arms started to wind its way around Oikawa’s waist.

“It has come to our attention,” Yabaha said, making a valiant effort to continue despite his obvious discomfort, “that certain… behaviors demonstrated by the two of you are, um - disturbing. To the team.”

Kyoutani mumbled something unintelligible under his breath, and Yahaba reached back and smacked him without looking. Watari, by the lockers, was trying to muffle his laughter, which, okay, this was a serious matter and Hanamaki did not appreciate his willingness to laugh at their pain.

“You’re going way overboard with the PDA,” Matsukawa clarified. “It’s scaring the first years.”

Oikawa turned to Kindaichi and Kunimi, one eyebrow raised in challenge. “Is this true?”

Kindaichi, blinking fast, seemed to shrink behind his classmate even though he was at least a head taller. “Uh - um, Oikawa-senpai, I -”

“Yes,” Kunimi deadpanned. “Please stop.” Well, that was that. Even Kunimi, it seemed, was discomfited by the blatant touching and flirting.

“Huh,” Iwaizumi said. He at least had the decency to look abashed, one hand rubbing the back of his neck.

Oikawa, on the other hand, was not so easily shamed. “Are you giving me an order?” he asked, hard gaze sweeping over the gathered players. “Me? Your captain?”

His voice had lowered for the last part, adopting the dangerous tone he usually saved for before important games. “Oi, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi said, bumping his shoulder in warning. “Don’t be a dick.” He managed to make both the insult and the action come off as loving instead of chastising.

Well, whatever. None of them had expected the couple to give in without a little more effort.

It was, at last, Hanamaki’s turn to step up. “Not an order,” he said. “A wager.” He watched Oikawa’s eyes narrow, interested, and made a mental note to pat himself on the back later. “We bet that you and Iwaizumi can’t go a day without touching each other.”

Immediately, Oikawa’s competitive streak reared its head, and he extricated himself from Iwaizumi’s grasp, stepping away to place several feet of distance between their bodies. Hanamaki suppressed a grin. Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. “What do I get when I win?” Oikawa asked.

“Hanamaki and I will pay for a dinner date for you,” Matsukawa said. “Wherever you want.” They had both heard Oikawa go on and on about a restaurant that had opened in town a few days ago. He’d really wanted to try it out, but was unwilling to pay the exorbitant prices they charged. It was the perfect bait.

“But,” Hanamaki cut in, “if we win, you have to promise to lighten up on the loving around us.”

“No more footsie under the table at team dinners,” Matsukawa said.

“No more weirdly sexual trash talk when you play on different sides.” Watari said.

“No more grabbing Iwaizumi-senpai’s ass ‘for good luck’ before practice games.” That was Kunimi, who shrugged placidly when everyone turned to stare at him.

“No more making out shirtless in supply closets,” Yahaba finished.

Iwaizumi turned red, and Oikawa squawked in outrage. “That was one time!” he protested, shrill. “And it was your fault! We weren’t bothering anyone - you just _had_ to walk in on us!”

“Coach sent me to look for you because you were late to morning practice,” Yahaba retorted. Hanamaki nodded in approval - Yahaba was shaping up to be a fine captain if he could stand his ground in the face of a loud, whiny Oikawa.

Oikawa huffed and crossed his arms. “Fine. I’ll take your stupid bet, and I’ll win.”

There was a noticeable decrease in the overall tension of the room. Everyone had been fairly confident in the plan, but there was always the possibility that Oikawa would have refused, or Iwaizumi would have talked him into refusing. Luckily, it didn’t look like either was going to happen. “Okay.” Matsukawa clapped his hands together. “Ground rules: the bet is over tomorrow after the match with Karasuno, or when Oikawa touches Iwaizumi or Iwaizumi touches our dear captain - for any reason.”

“Wait,” Oikawa whined. Hanamaki could almost see the gears turning in his head. “Not fair. I can’t control if Iwa-chan touches me. Why should I have to suffer because of his actions?”

Iwaizumi groaned, and his head dropped into his hands. “That’s what I ask myself every day, Trashykawa.”

“Mean!”

And so began the strangest day of Hanamaki’s life.

* * *

On the way home, the four third years were oddly silent. Any other day, Oikawa would be regaling them with a story of whatever new, unbelievable thing happened to him that day, and Matsukawa and Hanamaki would interrupt every so often to make fun of him, with Iwaizumi occasionally joining in to add his own thoughts. Today, though, Oikawa was staring at the ground, sullen, lips pressed tight together in a thin line.

Matsukawa and Hanamaki made faces at each other more than once, confused, and though Iwaizumi made a joke about enjoying the peace and quiet for once, even he looked uneasy.

Oikawa folded his arms around himself and sighed. “Iwa-chan,” he said, like the others weren’t even there, “I really want to hold your hand right now.”

Iwaizumi snorted. “Agreeing to this bet was your stupid idea, you know.”

“I know. Obviously we have to win, but I still don’t like it.”

Hanamaki didn’t even have to look to know that Iwaizumi was smiling. “I don’t either, Tooru,” he said. “But it’s only for a day.”

“What. The. Hell,” Matsukawa deadpanned.

“It’s been like ten minutes,” Hanamaki agreed, “and you’re already forcing us to add a new rule. No flirting. No talking about what you want to do to each other.”

Oikawa spluttered. “What? You can’t do that! You can’t add new rules! Iwa-chan!”

“The bet was about PDA,” Matsukawa reasoned. “Verbal included.”

“But ‘PDA’ includes the word ‘display,’ which connotes a visible action -”

“Are you really trying to argue the definition of PDA?” Matsukawa asked. Hanamki caught the amused quirk of his lips. They looked soft.

“Fine, okay.” Oikawa changed tracks. “But that was nothing, we weren’t even doing anything bad -”

“You used first names!” Hanamaki all but shouted, exasperated. “That’s you being coupley!”

“Nuh uh! Friends call each other by first name!”

“Uh huh. Sure, _Tooru._ ”

Oikawa visibly cringed. “Okay, point taken. Please never call me that again.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

The conversation tapered to a halt, and they continued walking in silence. Eventually, they reached the fork in the road where Matukawa and Hanamaki had to go one way and the lovebirds had to go the other. “Oh,” Matsukawa said, “and don’t try to cheat because we’re not there. I called Mama Oikawa, and she’ll know if you do anything.”

“Wait, what? You called _my mom_?” Oikawa’s voice, at this point, had achieved decibel levels previously unknown to man.

“Someone has to keep an eye on you.” Matsukawa shrugged.

They watched as Oikawa stomped, fuming, down the street, Iwaizumi following several paces behind at a more measured pace. When they were out of earshot, Hanamaki turned to his partner in crime, awed. “I want you to father my children,” he said. “When did you even manage that?”

Matsukawa ducked his head, grinning. “Thanks. And after practice. It was a really fast phone call.”

Hanamaki held his hand out for a high-five, and they set off in the direction of their own houses.

For some reason, Hanamaki mused, his skin seemed to burn where it touched Matsukawa’s palm. He tucked it into his pocket and tried to ignore the feeling.

* * *

The next morning, Oikawa and Iwaizumi were waiting at the street corner to walk to school together when their friends arrived. They stood several feet apart, not looking at each other. Oikawa was staring into space, most probably reviewing volleyball plays for the game today, and the bags under his eyes were more prominent than they had been the day before. Iwaizumi had his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, and his gaze skittered over to Oikawa’s face every so often. He was frowning.

As soon as Matsukawa and Hanamaki approached, Oikawa made a noise like a drowning man and flung himself over Matsukawa’s shoulders. “Mattsun,” he said, “walk with me.”

They broke away from the others after that, Matsukawa offering Hanamaki a wave and a soft smile over his shoulder before he was dragged away. Hanamaki blinked, ignoring the strange squirming in his chest. “What’s up with that?”

Iwaizumi shrugged, and they fell into step beside each other. “He’s touch-starved, I think.”

“Huh.”

“The idiot probably didn’t sleep last night watching Karasuno’s old videos.”

“I thought you said he was getting better?”

“He is.” Ever since they lost in the semifinals and missed out on their last chance to go to nationals, according to Iwaizumi, Oikawa had begun to obsess less over their rivals and focus more on being recruited by a top college. “But sometimes when he can’t sleep… I should have been there. To hell with the bet.”

Hanamaki winced. He had to feel for the guy - this whole situation was partly his fault, after all. Well, okay fine. It was mostly his fault.

They watched as Oikawa clung to Matsukawa like a koala, the latter tolerating it with little more than a few eye rolls and chuckles. Something hot and ugly seized hold of Hanamaki, and he had to turn away from the sight. Beside him, Iwaizumi made a low noise in the back of his throat. “What’s this?” Hanamaki asked. “Oh my, are you jealous?”

“Shut your mouth,” Iwaizumi said. But his hands were clenched into tight fists at his sides, and they spent the rest of the walk to school in silence.

The morning passed with little fanfare. Iwaizumi and Oikawa were both diligent students, and they usually left their antics at the classroom door. Hanamaki, though, couldn’t quite say the same for himself. Listening to their sensei drone on and on about college entrance exams or whatever it was, he found his attention drawn to Matsukawa, in the seat next to him, more than a few times. He studied his friend’s profile: the slope of his nose, the dark lashes framing hooded eyes, the way he chewed on his bottom lip when he was thinking.

Twice, Matsukawa caught him staring. The first time, he rolled his eyes at something the teacher was saying and winked, which didn’t do any favors for the weird flip-flopping in Hanamaki’s stomach. The second time, he frowned and mouthed _Do I have something on my face?_ and it was all Hanamaki could do to shake his head and pretend to focus on taking notes. He hoped his face wasn’t as heated as it felt.

Lunch that day would go down as one of the most awkward in the history of the third years of the Seijoh boys’ volleyball team. None of them spoke much, if at all. Hanamaki’s collar felt too tight whenever Matsukawa happened to brush against him, and he was starting to wonder if he was coming down with something. Maybe he should go to the nurse after lunch, even if that meant missing the practice match.

Matsukawa broke the silence. “Not that I don’t appreciate a break from Oikawa’s bitching -” he paused while Oikawa, true to form, immediately began complaining “- but you guys know you don’t have to stop talking to each other, right?”

Oikawa stabbed at his rice. He looked mutinous. “If I told Iwa-chan any of the things I want to say right now,” he hissed, “I’d lose.”

Hanamaki watched as Iwaizumi underwent a sequence of various emotions: surprise first, then multiple unreadable expressions in quick succession, before he settled on fond exasperation and took a bite of curry to hide his smile.

“Say, Hanamaki,” Matsukawa began, “that sounded kind of romantic to me, don’t you think?”

Oikawa stiffened, alarmed. “What, no, how -”

Hanamaki grinned and rubbed his hands together in supervillain-esque glee. “I have to say, Matsukawa, I see it.”

“Don’t you _dare._ ”

Still smirking, Hanamaki waved him off. “Don’t worry, loverboy. We’re not letting you off that easy.”

Iwaizumi sighed, grumbling something, doubtless unflattering, too quiet for anyone to hear.

Then Matsukawa bumped Hanamaki’s shoulder, sending a _zing_ straight through his entire system. He froze for a second at the touch before smiling and relaxing into his friend’s side. It was nice. He took a bite of his onigiri and chewed, glancing up to see that Oikawa was watching him.

He raised an inquiring eyebrow. Oikawa studied his face and Matsukawa’s in turn, noted the way they were pressed together side by side. Slowly, his pout morphed into a sharp smile, and a dangerous glint shone in his eye. It was the look he wore whenever he had just figured out an opponent’s weakness on the court. Hanamaki faltered under the weight of it.

Matsukawa, oblivious, got to his feet. “I’m going to the vending machine,” he said. “Can I interest you in a strawberry milk, o mother of my children?”

Oikawa scoffed. Hanamaki ignored him. “Yes, please,” he said. “You’re too good to me.”

He wasn’t prepared, however, when Matsukawa grabbed his hand and kissed it with a flourish. He then turned on his heel and headed for the exit, leaving a stunned Hanamaki in his wake.

Iwaizumi, failing to pick up on Hanamaki’s desperate internal monologue of _don’t leave me alone with Oikawa, he’s up to something, stay the fuck in your seat do you hear me young man,_ stood as well and followed Matsukawa out.

Hanamaki barely had time to sigh, defeated, before Oikawa’s cheshire grin was all up in his face. “Makki,” Oikawa cooed, “who would’ve known that you liked the tall, dark, and handsome ones? Good thing Iwa-chan’s so short, or I would be worried that you might try to take him away from me!”

He shot a half-hearted glare in his captain’s direction. “What are you talking about?”

“Makki, Makki, Makki.” Oikawa tutted in a show of mock sympathy. “Isn’t it obvious? You have a crush on our dear Mattsun.”

And Hanamaki froze. _No._

It couldn’t be. Him? Matsukawa? Yeah, right.

But.

The blushing. And the staring. And the _jealousy._

Oh. Oh no.

Oikawa, having witnessed Hanamaki’s dawning realization and horror, hummed and sat back, satisfied with the havoc he’d wrought. “Ah! He finally understands. All in a day’s work for a great matchmaker such as myself, of course.” He lowered his voice. “So what are you going to do about it?”

What was he going to do about his newfound knowledge that he liked his best friend? What kind of a question was that? He opened his mouth to retort, but snapped it shut again. Because Oikawa looked… gleeful. Almost vindictive.

With a jolt, Hanamaki realized why. Before Oikawa and Iwaizumi got together, he was corralled into the unenviable role of Oikawa’s closest confidante. He had to endure countless hours of annoying rambling; Oikawa was either gushing about how handsome and strong and reliable Iwaizumi was, or he was moping about how someone who knew him so well could never like him back. Hanamaki, always the opportunist, had taken advantage of Oikawa’s pining to roast the living hell out of him, and now he understood that Oikawa was planning a role-reversal. If Hanamaki didn’t do something about his crush, and soon, Oikawa was going to hold it over his head forever.

Matsukawa and Iwaizumi chose that moment to return. Matsukawa set the strawberry milk down on Hanamaki’s desk, and Iwaizumi threw a packet of milk bread at his boyfriend’s head. That was enough to distract Oikawa, because he stopped harassing Hanamaki in favor of beaming at Iwaizumi with soft, happy eyes.

Hanamaki, on the other hand, couldn’t let the conversation go. He stared at the box of milk, turning it over in his hands. He liked his best friend. And he had to do something about it.

* * *

Afternoon classes passed in a blur. The volleyball team was dismissed several minutes before the final bell to set up the gym, and they huddled for a team meeting while they waited for Karasuno to arrive. Before Oikawa could start on his usual routine, Hanamaki cut him off. “Captain,” he said, “I’d like to make an announcement.”

Oikawa frowned, not pleased to have been interrupted, but motioned for him to speak.

Hanamaki cleared his throat. Go big or go home, right? He turned to face Matsukawa.

“ _We’re no strangers to love,_ ” he sang. “ _You know the rules, and so do I. A full commitment’s what I’m thinking of. You wouldn’t get this from any other guy._ ”

“Oh my god,” someone said.

Matsukawa gaped at him, a smile playing on his normally sleepy features.

Upon seeing that, Hanamaki got bolder. He shimmied his hips a little, grabbed a water bottle from a nearby bench to use as a mic, and proceeded to dance circles around the object of his affections, serenading him all the while. The other players shuffled away with various levels of amusement and disbelief, forming a circle around them.

“ _Never gonna say goodbye,_ ” Hanamaki crooned, just as the first Karasuno players began filing in. “ _Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you._ ”

“What the fuck?” someone from Karasuno asked out loud. He was ignored.

Hanamaki spun around and ended up on one knee in front of Matsukawa, clasping his hand close to his chest. “Issei,” he said. “Light of my life, father of my children, will you go out with me?”

Matsukawa’s smile broadened. “Takahiro. After all that, how could I say no?”

He pulled Hanamaki up and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. Together, they turned to face their team, most of them rendered speechless by the display.

Kindaichi, to the surprise of many, was the first to recover. He started clapping. The applause spread to the second years, and then to Oikawa and Iwaizumi, both trying to suppress proud smiles. Even Kunimi joined in, and maybe some of the Karasuno players, too.

Across the gym, someone cleared their throat. “Okay, everyone,” said a voice Hanamaki recognized as belonging to Karasuno’s captain. “I’m not sure what they’re doing, but let’s start warming up.”

That snapped Oikawa out of it. “All right! Thank you, Makki.” He leaned in, signalling a sudden attitude shift. “Remember, I believe in all of you guys. _Let’s crush them._ ”

He scowled at the new couple, arms wrapped around each other, and glanced over to his own boyfriend. Hanamaki didn’t need to be a mind reader to know that Oikawa was desperate to get the match over with and end the bet. And at this rate, he and Iwaizumi were going to win.

But, well, Hanamaki had gotten a boyfriend out of the deal, so it was probably worth forking over some cash for a dinner.

They warmed up, and then the starters got into position to begin the game.

It was an experience, to say the least. The tension between Oikawa and Iwaizumi was electric, and it helped and hindered them by turns. They fumbled easy serves, made bad calls, got distracted by each other and missed spikes. But Oikawa’s heart was set on winning - to be fair, Hanamaki figured he deserved it, after the past twenty-four hours - and he called to his team like a beacon in the dark. Iwaizumi, despite being unable to touch him, seemed to read into his actions with more ease than before. The entire team was swept up in their drive for victory.

Karasuno seemed to realize something was up, and they rallied, but by the end of the third set, each team having taken one match, it was game point to Seijoh. Oikawa served, overshot, and their libero received it. Kageyama set the ball to their team’s ace, but Hanamaki noticed, closed in on the spike and sent it back over the net. It was Karasuno’s ball again, and this time it went to the tall, spectacled middle blocker. Kunimi received his spike with a grunt, and it curved in a high, slow arc straight to Oikawa.

Everyone on the court knew, then, who he would set it to. Hanamaki watched with bated breath as Oikawa passed to Iwaizumi. Karasuno’s blockers were there, but Iwaizumi was ready for them - he slammed the ball down, blowing past them, in a cross-court shot.

For a moment, the only sound was the thump of Iwaizumi’s landing and the heavy breathing of the players. And then a loud shriek cut through the air.

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa threw himself at the ace, and Iwaizumi caught him around the waist. Oikawa kissed him, breathless and laughing, and Iwaizumi spun him around in the air before putting him down and pressing their foreheads together. “Hajime,” Oikawa babbled. “I missed you so much, _god_ I love you.”

“ _Tooru,_ ” Iwaizumi said, reverent, and hugged him tighter.

“It’s been a _day,_ ” Yahaba wailed from behind them. His protest went unheeded.

“Oh my god,” Hanamaki said. “What have we unleashed unto the world?”

Matsukawa shuddered. “I didn’t know they could get worse.”

“I don’t think you have room to talk, senpais,” Kunimi said.

In unison, Hanamaki and Matsukawa gasped.

“What are you saying, Kunimi? Our love is pure!”

“Our cute underclassman has turned on us. How cruel!”

“You rickrolled him,” Kunimi pointed out.

Hanamaki snickered. “That’s how you confess in style. Take notes from your senpais, Kunimi. Oh, and you too, Kindaichi.” Kindaichi, busy trying to hide in a corner and ignore everything around him, yelped, startled.

“Oikawa!” Irihata-sensei’s booming voice reverberated through the gym. “Get your team together and shake hands. Karasuno didn’t come all the way here to watch you behave like children.”

Oikawa honest-to-god giggled and, pulling Iwaizumi along by the hand, got his team to line up on their side of the net. As they did so, Hanamaki was very aware of the Karasuno players watching them.

“You mean -” he heard their short number ten say, “the Grand King? And Seijoh’s ace?”

“Idiot,” Kageyama said. “They’ve been like this since KitaDai. You’re so dense.”

“Oh, my,” their blond middle blocker said, “the king is calling someone else dense. I never thought I’d see the day.”

Karasuno’s captain and third year setter shut them up with twin warning looks.

“Sorry about that,” the captain said to Oikawa. “I don’t know what just happened, but, er… congratulations?”

They shook hands. “Thank you so much, Dai-chan,” Oikawa said. “Isn’t my Iwa-chan just the best? Don’t worry, you’re all invited to the wedding!” He cast his eye down the lineup of Karasuno players, and his lip curled in distaste. “Even Tobio-chan, I suppose. I’m feeling gracious.”

Iwaizumi, to his credit, took it all in stride. “You’re embarrassing,” he said, shaking hands with the silver-haired vice captain, who looked entertained by the whole thing.

Briefly, Hanamaki wondered what it would be like to have a captain like Karasuno’s, who was respected by his players off the court, who probably wouldn’t make out with his boyfriend in front of his entire team.

Eh. He didn’t think that would be as much fun. He grabbed Matsukawa’s hand in his, smiling when he felt a reassuring squeeze.

His people were here by his side, and that was good enough for him.

* * *

“Makki!” Oikawa sing-songed later, as they were changing back into their uniforms. “You know this means you lose, right?”

Hanamaki groaned. “Ugh. Don’t remind me. I can’t believe I still have to pay for your dinner even though I have a boyfriend who I need to take out.”

“Yeah,” Matsukawa said. “And I’m not a cheap date, Hiro. You’re going to have to go all out to get in my pants.”

“We could go together,” Iwaizumi pointed out. “Make it a double date.”

Oikawa, straddling his lap on the changing room bench, lit up at the suggestion. “What a great idea, Iwa-chan! I’ve always wanted to have a couple friend to do couple things with.” He paused. “Makki and Mattsun are still paying, though.”

“You’re so shitty,” Iwaizumi said. His amused tone - and the hand petting Oikawa’s hair - belied the harsh words. Oikawa made a content noise and buried his head in Iwaizumi’s shoulder.

Hanamaki gestured at them, indignant. “You see, Issei? This is what we’re going to have to deal with from now on.”

Matsukawa hummed, biting on his lip. “Not if we give them a taste of their own medicine.”

And damn if that didn’t just make him swoon. Really, his boyfriend was perfect. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Are you thinking I’m saying what I’m thinking you’re thinking I’m saying?”

“Are you saying I’m thinking you’re saying what you’re thinking I’m thinking you’re saying?”

“Oh, absolutely,” said Matsukawa. He leaned in for a kiss.

Hanamaki bit back a grin when he heard Oikawa’s affronted gasp.

“Makki! Mattsun! You’re not allowed to be cute with each other when _I’m_ being cute with _my_ boyfriend! Hey, stop ignoring me!”

He couldn’t help it. He started laughing into Matsukawa’s mouth, and they had to break apart when he couldn’t stop. Matsukawa, eyes bright and cheeks pink, watched him with ill-concealed affection.

_Yeah,_ Hanamaki decided. _Definitely worth it._

**Author's Note:**

> i was planning to make this kyouhaba, not matsuhana, but they just happened. all hail the meme team.
> 
> this was very fulfilling to write, so i hope it's as nice to read!
> 
> title is, of course, from "never gonna give you up" by the one and only rick astley.


End file.
